Work Text:
Later, when Logan has claimed the single cabin in the back of the plane and trudged off to bed after giving Erik menacing stares that hadn't intimidated him in the least, and Hank has drawn the partition between the front of the plane and the general area, he and Charles are alone, sitting across from each other over yet another game of chess. It's quiet, barely a word spoken between the two of them, but it's not the comfortable silence of earlier days. There's a tension to the air, so thick Erik could cut it with a knife, with only the clink of ice against their glasses to break the silence.
Erik steals glances whenever he thinks Charles won't notice; Charles, at least, seems focused on the game in front of him. Or maybe he isn't focused at all, and Erik has just lost the ability to read him as well as he used to be able to. He wants to say something, anything, to have that conversation they both desperately need to have, but Charles is closed off to him, a wall built around him that Erik doesn't know how to even begin to break down. Charles hadn't even been like this when they first met; he had been friendly, welcoming, so eager for a friend even when Erik had only been a cold stranger at the time.
Erik moves his bishop forward and then leans back, bringing his glass to his lips as he steals another glance before looking back down, clearly brooding and not caring how he looks. It is only Charles, after all. The other man is so changed, so different from the one Erik had known ten years ago. That man had been open, charming and bright and so painfully innocent to the point of naivety. This one, though, the one currently sitting across from him with his mangy hair and scruffy jaw, has unfocused eyes full of so much pain it makes something deep within Erik ache. This Charles is raw, angry and hopeless and exhausted and miserable. Erik wonders whether he is responsible for extinguishing that bright flame of hope that had fed Charles' personality and drove his ambitions. The realization that he may have had a hand in that makes his stomach curl, guilt and regret and self-loathing a bitter taste on his tongue.
"Are you going to go or not?" Charles' voice cuts through his thoughts, sharp and as cutting as broken glass, and Erik looks up at him. It's the first words he's spoken in what feels like hours.
"Go where?" Erik says stupidly, so lost in his thoughts was he.
Charles rolls his eyes and tips his glass slightly towards the chessboard. "You've been staring at it for ten minutes now."
Erik mentally shakes himself. "Right," he says, and focuses on the board, finally moving his rook three spaces.
Charles says nothing more, and they finish the game in silence. Erik wins for once, probably because Charles can't read his mind to cheat. The thought is another painful stab to the chest; it is his fault, even if it's indirectly, that Charles doesn't have his powers.
Charles gets up when his king is knocked over, walking over to the liquor cabinet to fill his glass up again. When he turns back, Erik says "Again?"
Charles shakes his head, heading for the couch lining one side of the plane, but before he reaches it Erik holds his glass in his fingertips, lifting it towards Charles in a silent request. Charles looks irritated, but he snatches the glass anyway and turns back to the bottle of vodka. Erik lets the ghost of a smile tug at his lips, getting up from his seat to stretch across the couch Charles was headed for and watches him add chips of ice to his glass. When Charles sees him laying across his couch, he looks like he very badly wants to strangle Erik, but just takes a deep breath, practically thrusts Erik's glass into his outstretched hand, and throws himself back in his seat, staring moodily out the window, even though there's nothing to see.
Erik tucks an arm behind his head and props himself up, taking a sip with his eyes glued on Charles. The unexplainable feeling that has been lingering in his chest ever since Charles broke him out of prison finally has a name, and it feels like something of an epiphany when he realizes he just wants Charles complete, undivided attention. Not these half assed, irritated glances and distracted answers. The only time he had truly had Charles attention was when Charles was punching him or screaming at him. And then it's obvious what Erik has to do, and he realizes how fucked up it is that he thinks the only way he's going to get Charles's attention is to make him angry at him.
He's never claimed to be completely sane.
Swirling his drink idly, he opens his mouth even as he hates himself a little more. "What happened to Sean and Alex?"
Charles freezes, and the wave of hate that Erik feels for himself in that moment is almost overwhelming. He never thought he'd be the reason for that look on Charles' face, ever. And yet here he is, doing the exact opposite of what he wants. The pain that flashes across Charles' features is almost enough for him to take everything back, kneel at Charles' feet and ask for forgiveness for everything he's ever done to him, all the pain he's caused, and give him the entire world, give him back that hope Erik has had such a big hand in snatching from him.
He swallows his words down and waits for Charles to speak through the roar of his own hatred.
After a long, tense moment, Charles licks his lips and then says, "They both got drafted. They found out Sean was mutant and...you know. I don't know where Alex is or even if he's-" Charles cuts himself off, a heavy sigh escaping him as he closes his eyes and drops his head against the headrest.
Erik is quiet for a moment, lets Charles stew for a good while. Then he opens his mouth and tears down what little love Charles had remaining for him. "Why didn't you keep them safe?"
Just as he knew he would, Charles' blue eyes snap open, his nostrils flaring as he stares at Erik with piercing eyes. It's like getting knifed, and for a split second Erik expects the stab of pain in his head, before he remembers Charles can't do that anymore.
"I did my best," Charles grits out, looking pained. The hand around his glass tightens.
Erik sits up straight, putting his glass aside with more force than necessary. "Obviously it wasn't enough. They trusted you to keep them safe, as you said you would, and you didn't." Charles looks shocked, like he can't believe what he's hearing, and Erik can see his heart breaking. He pushes on relentlessly. "You could've used your powers to convince the government to let it go. Why didn't you?"
The glass drops from Charles' hand, spilling amber liquid across the seat and table before landing with a loud thud on the airplane floor, as he stands up so fast it makes Erik flinch just slightly. "I wanted them to be a part of this world, not keep them isolated from it," he snarls, rage in every line of his face, fists curled up into balls so tightly his knuckles are white.
Erik stands up too, unashamedly using his greater height to tower over Charles, forcing him to look up to him. It's a cheap trick, but Erik doesn't care, because he only wants one thing. "And what good did that do them?" Erik asks, his voice quiet and calm, eyes locked on Charles.
Charles snaps, lunging across the plane and slamming into Erik. They both tumble down onto the plush couch, Erik's head bouncing a bit as it's shoved against the soft headrest. He blinks, trying to catch his breath as his head spins. Charles may be small but he packed a lot of force.
Charles, meanwhile, looks just as winded as him, breathing harshly in the space between them. A long moment passes before he opens his mouth. "We were supposed to keep them safe. Together, you and I," he says, and he sounds strangled, like he's only a second away from sobbing.
And it's only then that he seems to realize their position; Charles is sitting on his lap, legs bent on either side of Erik's thighs, his hands fisted in Erik's shirt.
He's about to move away, Erik knows, but he doesn't let him; it's been ten years too fucking long and he's finally got Charles right where he wants him. He wraps his arms around Charles, brings him closer and murmurs, "Oh, darling, we were, weren't we?" And then he kisses him.
Ten years. Erik hasn't had this for ten years, hasn't had Charles' soft lips under his, biting at his jawline, licking at the shell of his ears as he teased Erik for being so easy for him.
Erik didn't care before, and he doesn't care now, how much he aches for Charles, all the time.
Charles is stiff in his arms and doesn't kiss him back, but Erik is unrelenting, licking at his top lip and drawing the bottom one between his teeth, sucking at it lightly. His eyes flicker up to Charles, to see they're angry, even as his pupils dilate and his breathing harshens. His hands let go of their choke hold on Erik's collar, and slip over to clutch as his shoulders.
And then he tears himself away from Erik's mouth. His hands stay where they are as he stares at Erik, eyes dark and unreadable. Erik looks back, even as Charles grip is so tight it's verging on painful. It doesn't matter; Erik deserves this.
"We were supposed to keep them safe. All of them. You were-" Charles breath catches, and suddenly his beautiful electric blue eyes are red rimmed, tears threatening to fall. Erik's feels his heart ache. "You were supposed to stay with me," he says desperately, clutching at Erik.
"I'm sorry," Erik says dazedly, the only thing he could possibly say, but it's not enough, and it won't ever be. "I'm sorry for abandoning you," he whispers, and it's the truth. He's not sorry for what he believes he has to do, for the things he's done to keep their brothers and sisters safe, but he will always, always be sorry for leaving Charles at the time he was needed the most.
"You're not, you're not," Charles says fiercely, angrily, and his tears spill over as he shoves Erik harder against the backrest and kisses him. There's nothing gentle about this kiss; it's aggressive and slightly painful as Charles bites at his lips and thrusts his tongue against Erik's.
It's exactly what Erik needs.
He tightens his arms around Charles, pulling him so close they're flush together, tilting his head to the side so he can nip at Charles's jaw. He brings a hand up to brush away those hated tears and then slide it into his hair to draw the strands back from his face, and Charles tilts his head back to give him more access.
And it's so easy, the way they fall back into the familiar, the way Charles moves and responds and squirms in his lap. Their bodies know each other, even if their minds no longer do.
He would have loved to explore more, take the time to slide his hands over every inch of Charles' body as he did so many years ago in their warm bed, but Charles is impatient, picking at his shirt and making frustrated noises.
"Hurry up," he growls, and finally succeeds in ripping his buttons off. Immediately he shoves a hand into his shirt, cold fingers skipping lightly over his skin. Erik winces, and then gently pries his hands away. Charles very nearly pouts, but the effect is ruined by the scowl twisting his features.
Erik kisses him again, lacing their hands together. "I hate you," Charles growls, lips barely moving away to form the words.
"I know, darling," Erik murmurs against his mouth, and finally flips them on the couch.
Erik looms over Charles, hands still laced together by Charles' head, bent over him on all fours. His knees are positioned by Charles' thighs, and Charles blinks up at him, surprise etched across every feature, before he scowls again. "Are you going to fuck me?"
Erik raises an eyebrow as he settles himself between his legs, bodies glued together. He unlaces his hands to slip them under Charles arms, sliding them back into his long hair. He can feel Charles' erection against his stomach, and feels a tiny bit pleased that Charles is still aroused by him, if nothing else. "Why? Do you have lube?"
Charles rolls his eyes and squirms a little, but Erik is heartened to see he doesn't actually try very hard to get away. "This might shock you but I don't actually carry lube in my back pocket."
Erik raises an eyebrow. "You did before."
Charles flushes slightly. "We were very different before," he mutters, eyes sliding away.
Erik's heart drops. "Yeah," he says quietly. "We were."
There's a silence as Charles' slide back to his, and then they're staring at each other for what feels like forever before Charles breaks eye contact and purposefully rolls his hips. "Well?"
Erik grinds down on him, and the friction against their covered cocks leaves the both of them gasping. "Fuck me already," Charles grits through his teeth.
"No, Charles." The name taste foreign on his tongue, yet at the same time like it belongs there.
Charles looks frustrated. "Did you do this for the sake of riling me up, then?"
"Maybe." Erik dips his head and noses his shirt aside slightly to nibble at Charles' collarbones. Charles moans breathlessly, hands squeezing Erik's tightly.
"Why do you even care if there's no lube?" Charles gasps, desperately rolling his hips up, when it's apparent Erik won't be fucking him.
"Because, darling, I've never hurt you purposely, and I don't plan to start now," Erik murmurs against the skin of his neck, pressing soft kisses to it.
He's a little startled when Charles laughs harshly. Erik lifts his head and stares at him; there's a look of pure, heart wrenching disbelief on Charles's face. "Yeah, right," he says scathingly.
Erik swallows. "Charles-"
"Just shut up and fuck me."
Erik feels his heart drop to somewhere near his feet. Charles really is quite done with him.
So he obliges, does the only thing he can for Charles at this point, and draws himself up. His hands are wandering down to Charles' belt while his eyes stay locked on his face. He pulls his pants and briefs down to his thighs, eyes hungrily taking in his flushed and dripping cock, hands greedily brushing over the dip of his hipbones, his inner thigh. He watches as, the moment his hands are wrapped around Charles, the smaller man moans and drops his head back as his eyes flutter shut. Erik smears the pre-cum on the crown of Charles' cock with his thumb, before licking his palm and wrapping it around Charles again.
The rest is automatic, then; it feels completely natural to run his thumb along the vein snaking up his shaft, to pinch his nipples and watch them tighten under his ministrations, to cup his balls and tease at his rim. Erik briefly considers entering just one finger, before dismissing the thought right away; he's not going to hurt Charles, not even for this.
Charles comes apart under him, just like he always has. There's swearing and groaning and gasping between the two of them as Charles rolls his hips and Erik sucks on his nipple. Erik vaguely wonders if they should worry about the others walking in on them, but just then Charles has a hand over his cock and the thought flies out of his head with a loud moan.
Charles pushes himself up enough to unbuckle Erik's belt hurriedly, shoving them down before reaching in and wrapping a too tight hand around him. Erik lets out a pained groan but doesn't try to stop him, only doubling his efforts to make Charles come.
Charles is leaking in his hands, hips bucking as his hand slides up and down Erik's shaft. "Faster," Charles breathes, pulling Erik down to kiss up his jaw, biting at the lobe of his ear. When he licks the shell, a violent shudder wracks through Erik's body and his stomach coils tighter and he feels himself inch that much closer to the edge.
"Erik," Charles whispers, and then his name whispered in that throaty, hoarse voice is enough to have Erik is falling right over, orgasm blindsiding him like a freight train as his hips jerk and grind into Charles below him. Erik distantly hears Charles keening.
When he regains some higher brain function, he's breathing wetly against Charles' neck. Charles is kissing whatever inch of skin he can get his mouth on, and Erik vaguely registers Charles' erection still pressing insistently against Erik's stomach, and he pushes himself up again on one elbow to bring him off. Charles isn't far off, and it only takes a few wet strokes before he makes that telltale whine and Erik's hand is suddenly a lot wetter than it was.
And then it's quiet, not a word spoken between the two of them for the longest time. Erik takes his shirt off and cleans them both up with it before laying back on top of Charles, careful to keep most of his weight off him. Charles says nothing the entire time, only watches him, and when Erik finally settles he turns his face away, into the couch. Erik takes the opportunity to keep his lips pressed against Charles' warm skin. He keeps expecting Charles to stroke along his back like he always used to after sex, but the touch never comes and Erik is left feeling bereft and unreasonably upset. It's only a touch, and anyway Erik doesn't like cuddling, as he's always telling Charles.
It's only a touch.
Erik feels an aching sense of disappointment that nothing seems to have been resolved between the two of them, although he probably should've expected that, given how he had goaded Charles into a conversation in the first place. Angry sex might not have been a good idea either, but Erik refuses to regret it. At least he's physically close to Charles, if he can't be emotionally close.
Charles moves minutes, hours later, and it's only when he breathes in wetly that Erik realizes he's crying. He gets up off Charles quickly to gently turn Charles' face towards him, and feels his heart shatter all over again at the tear tracks down Charles' face.
"Charles, Charles, darling, don't cry, it's okay, please don't cry," Erik says, pleadingly, desperately, wiping away his tears with his thumbs. They don't stop though, and every tear has Erik feeling like a knife is twisting deeper inside him. Charles is clutching at him, fingers digging bruises into Erik's shoulders. Erik slides his arms under Charles and draws him close before flipping them carefully on the narrow couch, holding Charles tightly against his chest. "Please don't cry," he repeats, pressing kisses to his temple.
"Please don't leave me again," Charles whispers heavily, his voice tear strained and breathing ragged and beautiful electric blue eyes rimmed red.
Erik hates himself even as he opens his mouth. "I won't, darling," he murmurs against his cheek, and Charles doesn't call him out on the lie.
He kisses Charles' temple again and tucks his head under his chin, arms wrapped tightly around him, and eventually they sleep.